


Impact

by Arya_Greenleaf



Series: Improvised Implements [1]
Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Aftercare, BDSM, Bottom Kylo Ren, Caning, Established Relationship, Flogging, Hux is Not Nice, M/M, Paddling, Punishment, Spanking, Top Hux
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-10
Updated: 2016-06-10
Packaged: 2018-07-14 00:26:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,686
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7144712
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arya_Greenleaf/pseuds/Arya_Greenleaf
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hux and Ren have come to a very specific arrangement. Assigned by Supreme Leader to co-command, Hux expected someone who could handle the stress of the position without flying off the handle and what he got was very much not. What he's learned is that Ren needs a firm hand and a clear directionality.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Impact

**Author's Note:**

> ...that firm hand is Hux's and the directionality is bent over.
> 
> Warning for possibly questionable etiquette? I'm making this up as I go along and praying it doesn't sound _Grey._
> 
> In which Hux is the MacGyver of Space Sadists.
> 
> Enjoy.

Ren’s back rose and fell in a slow, steady rhythm. His breath was loud and smooth through the modulator on his mask. The regularity of it lulled Hux into a sense of serenity as he selected his implements.

It wasn’t often, if ever, that Hux found himself with any kind of on-planet leave. As a result, and he was rather proud of himself for it, many of his tools were hand-made. It helped that no one questioned his movements aboard the _Finalizer_ —that made for a literal city’s worth of materials at his very able fingertips with which to work.

Hux put down what he’d settled on starting with at the sound of movement and looked over his shoulder to see what had disturbed their quiet moment. Ren took a deep breath and huffed it out, shifting his hips against the edge of the desk and adjusting his stance. The skin of his chest and stomach made a soft _shhiff_ -sound when it unstuck from the smooth desktop as he rocked fractions to one side and then the other.

The lights in the office were turned low—dreamy illumination for what was set to follow.

Ren tensed as Hux approached, his boots tapping against the durasteel floor.

“Shh,” he soothed.

Ren made a weak, choked sound somewhere in the back of his throat when Hux touched him, fingertips gliding over ropes of muscle and pearly scars and tracing paths through the galaxy of beauty spots on Ren’s back and shoulders.

Ren’s hands curled into fists, tight and shaking. Hux had been creative in his endeavors to protect Ren just as much as he’d been in producing instruments with which to pull him apart. Hux let out a short laugh when the binders clattered against the desktop with another small physical adjustment of the body across it, one each of a pair of socks wrapped around Ren’s wrists to keep the hard edges of the binders from biting into the tender skin there.

Hux leaned close, approximating where Ren’s ear was under the helmet, his hand still stroking gently across hard-muscled shoulders. “This is not going to be pleasant. This is not _maintenance._ ”

Ren shuddered, the binders clattering again, his hips shifting again as he squared up his feet. “I understand.”

“And you understand that you are to _stop me_ if necessary?” Ren nodded once, sharply, the side of the mask scraping against the desktop. “Say it.”

“I understand.”

“And how will you stop me?” Ren mumbled something made more inaudible by the modulator. “Excuse me?”

“ _Macrobinoculars._ ” His tone was wounded and annoyed, but really—why else had they settled on such an absurd word for their purposes if not for exactly that absurdity?

Hux laughed breathily and drew himself back up. His fingertips dragged down over Ren’s spine and the swell of his ass, patting it softly with his palm. “Good.”

He waited for Ren to stop clenching his legs, deciding at the moment that no additional tool was necessary. When the deep groove at the side of his buttocks softened, the cords of his thighs no longer straining, Hux struck.

Once.

Sharp.

Hard.

Ren gasped and lurched forward. Hux silently thanked the Maker that the desk was bolted down and struck again, attending to the opposite side of Kylo’s ass with the same treatment.

After a pause and a stop to the sudden trembling of Ren’s body, Hux resumed in a succession of quick, hard slaps. He counted them off in his head, groups of three and five that made flesh wobble and bounce each time his palm made contact.

He paused again, letting Ren regain his footing and noting the already white-knuckled grip of his fingers around the edge of the desktop. He stroked the quickly pinkening ass, dry hands on clammy skin. “You _are_ allowed to vocalize, Ren.”

Kylo drew in a shuddering breath and relaxed his hands slowly. “I know.”

“So exercise the privilege.”

_Smack!_

Hux was rewarded for his efforts with a loud moan forced out from presumably pressed-together lips as he continued. He watched the flush of color as it spread from beneath the bottom edge of the helmet, knowing from experience that the deep rouge would have already stained Ren’s cheeks—the bridge of his nose—the tops of his ears—and imagining the harsh lack of color in Ren’s plush bottom lip as he undoubtedly bit down into it. Hux continued with a rapid succession of strikes, alternating one side and then the other, with his free hand laid against the small of Ren’s back until the sting in his own hand grew irritating rather than satisfying. He spent a long moment rubbing firm circles into the now-warm flesh of Ren’s ass, watching the play of stress across the muscles in his arms and shoulders and back as Ren waited for whatever was next.

Ren let out a rush of breath, loud and crackling through the modulator when Hux stepped away. He shifted, rising up onto his elbows and lowering his forehead against the desktop. The binders clattered as he moved, a futile attempt to place his hands farther apart. He stretched, dipping his back low and raising his back end higher, lifting one foot and then the other before placing each down purposefully on the floor once more.

They both knew the binders were a farce.

Both were keenly aware of the power buzzing inside of Kylo Ren, churning in a summersault of Light and Dark.

But that was also why this thing between them _worked_.

Hux had abandoned all illusion of tactile physical restraint after the first time they had come together. It wasn’t worth the effort or the repair requisitions—even if a short memo of _Kylo Ren_ guaranteed that nothing would be questioned. It was much more effective, Hux found, to simply expect Ren to be _still_. Instruct him not to move, not to make a sound. Tell him to bend this way, turn that way.

_Exhibit restraint._

Ren could turn and push Hux away, throw him across the room without so much as lifting a finger—but he did not. Ren became something utterly opposite from the hot-tempered, unpredictable, argumentative wraith that haunted the _Finalizer_ when he was under Hux’s hand.

Ren muttered something unintelligible as Hux surveyed his collection. There were a few new improvised play-things and punishment-things that Kylo had yet to feel the bite of against his skin and Hux was rather eager to try. Hux smiled, eyes sliding over to Ren’s body as he melted back down onto the desk, and selected instead a trusted favorite.

The flogger, Hux thought, had been a stroke of brilliance. He’d filched box of rubber tourniquets from the medbay, taking them with the desire for something with more _thud_ and less _sting_ —a new sensation for Ren to be sure, and medbay wouldn’t miss the box. The individual strips hadn’t produced the desired effect when he’d gathered a handful and swept them down hard over his own bared thigh, but doubled they’d been _perfect_. He’d spent the better part of a mandated rest cycle binding strips together and letting them dry. The binder made the resulting falls heavier, less stretchy. Making the handle was purely intuitive. There was always a supply of blasters being serviced or junked from any one of the dozens of Stormtrooper divisions aboard. The grip-plates from a blaster served nicely as a handle with the ends of the rubber strips stacked together and sandwiched between, a healthy amount of repair tape from the engine crew holding it all in place, the plates screwed together once more. The repurposed blaster grip had a decent weight in his hand and allowed him control over the swing with his fingers settled into the contours.

Hux stroked the falls, gathering them together. He held the thing over Ren’s back, letting the rubbery strips pool between his shoulder blades. Ren whimpered pitifully as Hux dragged the flogger down the line of his spine and tensed again as the falls spread in a curtain over his ass. Hux pulled it away and dragged the falls in a bunch up through Ren’s cleft, watching the muscles on either side flutter.

Ren made a defiant sound and curled his fingers into tight fists, pounding them once, hard against the desk. “No.”

“Excuse me?”

Ren drew in a sharp breath and pushed it out. Hux waited, patient and ready, as Ren’s shoulders hitched up and his head dropped low again, his back arching into the sweep of the flogger across his skin.

“Shall we try that again?” Hux continued to wait, brushing the flogger back and forth, giving Ren the chance to decide if this was a _real_ “no” or just a moment of impudence.

“Do it.”

Hux smiled and drew his arm back, bringing the flogger down hard across the width of Ren’s ass. He cried out, flinching and rising up on the balls of his feet then dropping back down.

 _Five,_ Hux thought. _I like fives._

He counted the strikes in his head, hard and fast and unrelenting. At ten he varied the weight of the strikes and where they landed, leaving thick red stripes across Ren's thighs. At twenty he slowed them down.

Ren continued to flinch wildly, his vocalization becoming increasingly uneven and his breathing getting labored. Hux slowed to single strikes, hard and back-handed, watching Ren’s response.

Ren’s back dipped low, his ass high, leaning back into the impact. He shifted his arms, tucking his helmeted head beneath as best he could as he whimpered.

“This is easily avoidable, Ren. All I require is the respect of my crew’s physical boundaries and the integrity of my ship’s equipment. I am _tired_ , Ren. I will not tolerate another report of someone being whisked to medbay after wounding your delicate sensibilities. I don’t _care_ if it’s not with your own hands—you won’t choke another person aboard this ship who isn’t a kriffing prisoner you’re bending to your mystic will.”

Hux issued a final strike across the width of Ren’s ass, much more strength behind it than any of the others.

Ren’s whole body shuddered and fell. The binders clattered and he gripped the desk again. He slowly shuffled his feet forward, lining his body up properly once more and readying himself for whatever was next. Hux set the flogger aside and stroked the bright pink flesh he’d finished hitting gently until Ren settled into even, steady breaths once more, truly filling and emptying his chest.

Ren’s skin was glistening in the low light, the sheen of sweat sticky against Hux’s hands as he continued to rub.

Ren turned his head, drawing it out from beneath his arm and laying it down as if laying his cheek against the cool surface of the desk. His shoulders relaxed.

Hux selected his next implement.

The uncured plastoid was a common enough material on the ship—used for everything from armor for the troopers to chairs in the mess. A cut but yet unshaped arm-guard had become the perfect paddle, a handle easy enough to craft by scoring the plastoid and breaking it off an then wrapping it over with repair tape until comfortable to hold. Uncured, it had bounce.

_Thwack!_

Quick, sharp taps with the improvised paddle set Ren to moaning and squirming, constantly reshuffling his feet and his volume rising.

Hux put his hand at the small of Ren’s back, steadying him.

“Careful, Ren.”

He slowed his pace, waiting for _macrobinoculars._

Ren remained silent—mostly.

Hux stroked Ren’s ass with the cool, smooth paddle, looking over his shoulder at his tools, considering the possibilities. The length of speeder engine fan-belt, thick and industrial quality, had worked magnificently in the past making Ren tremble and shout and beg.

Hux changed his mind, placing the paddle down and reaching instead for a length of cured plastoid tubing normally used to protect delicate fiber optic wires. Ren openly sobbed, loud and pitiful, as Hux ran the length of it across his ass.

It whizzed audibly through the air as Hux brought it down, the impact like a _snap!_ against the heated skin.

Hux alternated—two strokes for every gentle caress of his hand—watching bright red welts appear across Ren’s ass. For his part, Ren had begun to fall apart in earnest. He made broken sounds, the distortion of the modulator exaggerating the quality. He rose up onto his toes, one leg shaking and bouncing rapidly, his back arching like an angry cat. His hands remained flat on the desk even as he trembled.

Hux raised a brow, stopping for a moment as the sound of the clattering binders was joined by the general shifting and shaking of anything not bolted down. He put a firm hand on Ren’s back.

“Shh,” he soothed. “None of that.”

In the moment it took the shaking to cease, a small case filled with datachips toppling and spilling, Hux drew his arm back for a final stroke. Ren lifted his foot and stomped, the trembling of his legs growing concerning.

Hux tucked the plastoid tubing under his arm. He took a deep breath, suddenly cognizant of the hammering of his own heart. He reached up under his collar to pop open the button that secured it, flipping the tab of fabric over to pull the front zip down just a bit—enough to relieve the warmth that had built under his uniform jacket. He ran a hand back through his hair and walked around to the opposite end of the desk.

“ _Kylo_.”

Ren slowly lifted his head, looking up at Hux through the dark visor of his mask. His fingers stretched, extending toward Hux. He gave Ren an expectant look.

Ren turned his hands palm-up, trembling.

Hux drew the plastoid tubing across his palms in an even motion, looking down into the visor as Ren held his breath and waited.

Hux set the tubing aside, leaning it against the wall closest and clasped Ren’s forearms in a supportive hold. “Come, up now,” he said softly.

Ren’s great bulk curled back into itself with Hux’s guidance. He leaned heavily against the desk as he shuffled around it and Hux helped him to sit down the chair behind it as he threatened to fall over on shaking legs and unsure feet.

Ren melted into the seat, gasping loudly as his own weight pressed down on his well-warmed behind. He slouched as Hux released the binders and set them aside on the desk along with the socks that had been protecting his skin. He gripped the arm-rests hard, his knuckles turning white.

Hux sat down on the edge of the desk in front of Ren, watching his head loll from one side to the other as he squirmed and shifted, unable to relieve what Hux imagined was considerable discomfort.

Hux reached out and pressed the buttons on either side of the mask, just behind where Ren’s ears were likely located within. The helmet hissed and the mask came forward and up slowly until Hux was able to lift it off.

Ren looked equal parts tragic and debauched. Sweat-soaked hair clung to the sides of his face and neck. His wide mouth shone with saliva. His eyes were red and wet, tear tracks tacky on his cheeks and his lashes clumped together.

Hux stroked sticky hair away from Ren’s face. “Talk to me.”

Ren leaned forward into the touch, his hands moving from the arms of the chair to Hux’s knees. Hux allowed it, reaching out to catch his elbows and support him as he came forward. Big, strong arms wrapped around Hux’s waist. Ren pressed his face into Hux’s stomach and shook, his body slotted between Hux’s legs. Nonsense sounds bubbled up from somewhere deep and spilled from Ren’s lips against the fabric of Hux’s jacket.

Hux bent down, gripping Ren’s shoulders reassuringly and resting his chin against the crown of Ren’s head.

“Talk to me.”

“ _Hux_ ,” he sobbed.

Hux shuddered, blowing out a breath slowly from between pursed lips. His eyes fluttered closed.

“I’m _sorry_.”

**Author's Note:**

> I feel like I should apologize.


End file.
